Just Dreamin'

I wrote this when I was planning to move back to St. Louis after graduation... and ideally, move into my next door neighbor's vacant upstairs apartment.

Wednesday night, March 30, 2011

Dream big.                                         

Dream with me for a moment.  Imagine a bright fall day in St. Louis.  The leaves have started to change color, and a delightful breeze flutters down Hebert Street.  The Krumsiegs are home, no doubt about that.  The front door is wide open, and a drum set is heard from the basement.  Caleb is lovin’ his life.

Next door, the Levels sit out on their front porch, sipping ice tea.  Mr. Levels talks to whoever walks by, and Mrs. Levels fans herself lightly. 

The door to the upstairs apartment is flung open, along with all of the second floor windows.  An upbeat bluegrass tune emanates from someone at work in the apartment.  If an observer cared to check, the dumpster in the alleyway is full of decrepit furniture and various moth-eaten items.  The second floor apartment is sparklingly clean.  The mothball smell lingers slightly but is overpowered by a whiff of paint.  Standing on the tarp protecting the wood floor, a woman pushes back her blonde bangs with the back of her hand and dips her paint roller into the pan again.  Three of the four walls already display the myrtle green color, only one white wall remaining.  At the top of the staircase, a younger woman gingerly adds pieces to a mosaic enclosing the hexagonal mirror on the wall.  The young woman’s father and older brother can be heard wrestling with an unwieldy bed frame as they climb the narrow back stairs.

A call is heard from below.  The young woman turns to see an excited three-year-old with blonde pigtails and a young mom with a baby in tow at the bottom of the stairs.  The young woman greets them.  The three-year-old squeals then scrambles up the staircase.  Soon, the three-year-old animatedly helps the young woman with the mosaic.  The young mom chats with the painting woman while the two men begin assembling the bed.  Another young woman holding a platter of chips, salsa, hummus and guacamole announces her presence at the bottom of the stairs.  Her fiancé sets down his wrench next to the bed frame and hastens down to help her carry the food.  The mosaic-maker grabs an assortment of glasses for water, and everyone sits down on the floor to share the snack.  All carries on pleasantly until the three-year-old somehow manages to rush into the other room and, beckoned by her mother’s call, emerges with a mischievous smile and her hands, face, and shirt covered in a myrtle green hue.

The party breaks up, as the young mom scoops up her two children and walks them down the street to clean up at home.  The men return to the bed frame.  The engaged young woman picks up the paint roller while the blonde woman paints the edges of the walls with a small brush.  The mosaic-maker continues her art. 

A few hours later, the mosaic-maker sits and reads on the back porch of the Krumsieg home.  She smells barbeque ribs and glances over to see her neighbor, a renowned chef, grilling in his backyard.  She waves at him then walks over to the garden to water her budding sunflowers.  Returning to her chair, she hears the laughter of Pastor Gill and Ms. Donna, interweaving with her father’s boisterous voice and her mother’s softer comments.  Yep, God is good. 

She resumes her reading.